


sexy future firefighters & useless pining

by kunimi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, asahi suga mao kiyoko yukie akaashi iwaizumi semi and half of inarizaki all show up, daishou and mika too but i only tagged chars whose pov were shown or the main ship, futakuchi says kuroo is a furry and i support him for it, uhhh major game of spot the bg ship happening lmao some being more ambiguous than others, your honour they are MORONS and their friends have had ENOUGH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunimi/pseuds/kunimi
Summary: “Let me get this straight,” Oikawa says slowly. “You guys are at the hospital because Kuro-chan burned himself because he was too distracted by Dai-chan’sthighs?”or:5 times Kuroo and Daichi's fellow captains and friends despaired of their weird oblivious courting, and 1 time they didn't.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi
Comments: 43
Kudos: 390





	sexy future firefighters & useless pining

**Author's Note:**

> so something hectic happened with my dad v recently and today has been a lot of ?!?!?! energy about it and to get it out of my system, instead of sleeping, i wrote like 7k of kurodai in 7 hours hkfdhkfjsd. this is for the kurodai server for listening to me lose my mind all day over the nonsense lmao (the working title for this doc was 'catharsis hours' lmao), and special shout out to sain for talking so much about clownery with me, bc that's the truest way to get me to do anything <3 
> 
> so here is like. 7.5k or something of kurodai clownery and a bunch of background ships, often also with clownery, also mostly inspired by either my own random rarepairs or conversations with people in servers the last two days
> 
> also! until recently my user was iwaizumi (billdenbrough) if you got an alert for this & you’re curious about who this is

**1.**

“I can’t take this anymore!” Oikawa says, slamming his hands down on the kitchen bench.

Ushijima glances up, perturbed. Kita doesn’t even bother looking at Oikawa, instead keeping his eyes on the _uta-garuta_ set he is shuffling. Moniwa and Bokuto both look up, though, wide-eyed and concerned, because they are the only flatmates Oikawa can trust.

He suddenly remembers when Bokuto melted his hairdryer last week and Daichi took him to buy a new one, and corrects his previous thought: they are the only roommates Oikawa can trust to take him seriously when Kuroo and Daichi are committing _crimes_ against Oikawa’s _sanity_. Which is basically _always_.

“They have gotten out of control,” Oikawa announces. He would like to say he has a rapt audience, but that would be false, unless he redefines ‘audience’ as ‘Bokuto’. Moniwa is exchanging glances with Ushijima, and therefore not quite as enraptured with Oikawa’s announcement as he ought to be.

“Are you talking about Kuroo and Sawamura?” Ushijima asks after a moment. He moves to put down his tea, placing it carefully on the saucer Kita slides closer to him, and then looks back up at Oikawa seriously.

“Oh, yeah, they did the jacket thing again, right?” Bokuto pipes up.

Moniwa frowns. “The what thing?”

“They keep, like, wearing each other’s jackets,” Bokuto says, turning to him with all the exuberance of a particularly excited Labrador. “Which is a weird thing to do because, _yeah_ , bros totally share things, what’s mine is yours, all that, but Kuroo and Daichi are, like, not even close to being the same size.”

Ushijima frowns. “Wouldn’t that expose Kuroo’s wrists to the elements a lot?”

“Not the point,” Oikawa says, waving his hand, before grudgingly adding on, “but yes.”

“You sound like Akaashi,” Bokuto tells Ushijima. “He used to tell me not to underestimate the month of January.”

Ushijima nods, like this is at all a reasonable conversation for high schoolers—Oikawa assumes, anyway—to have. “Akaashi is very wise,” he says.

Bokuto beams. “He is, isn’t he?”

“We have gotten off track,” Oikawa announces.

Kita makes a soft humming noise, as if to suggest an extreme lack of surprise at this. Oikawa glares lightly at him, but privately agrees.

“What _is_ the point?” Moniwa asks.

Oikawa draws himself up. “The _point_ ,” he says, stressing the word, “is that they are _out of control_. The clothes sharing! The making each other breakfast! That time we found them drunk and laughing in the bath at like 3 in the morning!”

Ushijima furrows his brow. “Weren’t you passed out on Bokuto’s lap that night?” he asks.

Oikawa scowls at him, but Bokuto speaks up. “Nah, he’d woken up by then, he was with me when we found them. He—”

“The _point_ ,” Oikawa barrels on, interrupting Bokuto before he can get into how Oikawa was needing to eject tequila from his system and had genuinely contemplated a drunk Kuroo’s hair as an optimal location for it, “is that they are disgustingly sappy and they either don’t _know_ it or they refuse to do anything about it, and I am getting secondhand stress wrinkles from it. They are committing crimes against _humanity_ , crimes against this _apartment_ , and most importantly, crimes against my _skincare regimen!”_

Kita finally looks up, eyeing him dryly. “Also, you want them to be happy,” he suggests, in that quiet way of his, that cuts to the core of things and brooks no arguments. Oikawa hates it. It’s like Iwa-chan, but without the easiness to rile—just clear-sighted honesty and a steady sort of heart that is never cruel, but never lets any of them away with their bullshit. As blatant peddlers of bullshit, Oikawa and Kuroo end up at the end of his gazes the most.

Still, as much as his instincts rail against it, there’s something that settles into his chest whenever Kita looks at him like that, with those eyes that don’t let anything pass him by, and simultaneously put him in his place and uncover a moment of decency—a piece of his heart—that he was trying to hide behind dramatics and taunting. It’s moments like this that make him think he understands why—according to Bokuto and Kuroo, anyway—all of Inarizaki was apparently in love with Kita, intimidating as he can be.

“And I want them to be happy,” Oikawa grumbles, a defeated sigh accompanying his words.

“Who’s happy?” Daichi asks, having opened the door halfway through Oikawa’s tragic admission.

“Oika’a-kun, showing selfless compassion? Mark it on the calendar,” Kuroo says, popping up from behind Daichi, and promptly tucking his chin over Daichi’s shoulder.

Oikawa lets out a frustrated yell, then stomps back into his room, muttering _out of control_ under his breath. _Idiots_ , he thinks, then immediately decides that’s charitable. _Hopeless idiots_.  
  


* * *

**  
2.**

When Sawamura had invited her to come to the festival with his flatmates, Michimiya hadn’t expected this.

“Yui,” Mao says, eyeing the way Kuroo’s arm is slung around Sawamura’s shoulders, a gesture that should be casual but somehow isn’t. “When you invited me to the fair, did you know we were going to be watching a sideshow for free of your ex-boyfriend being hopelessly in love with a rooster?”

Sugawara, on the other side of Michimiya, laughs so hard he can’t breathe, because he’s an absolute menace. Michimiya loves him dearly, but she definitely sees why Azumane and Sawamura always insist he’s the wicked one in their friendship. Azumane also cracks a grin, but he at least looks somewhat apologetic for doing so. Michimiya loves Azumane. Maybe she should promote him to the status of being her best friend, instead of Aihara Mao, who insists on _saying things_ where people could _hear_ them.

 _“Mao!”_ Michimiya wails, elbowing her best friend in the ribs. “He’s not my ex-boyfriend, you know that!” It’s no longer a sore spot, her unreturned feelings for Sawamura Daichi: she doesn’t regret them, because he’s inspiring and wonderful, stabilising the ground of everyone he comes into contact with, and she’s proud to be able to say she had the good taste to have her first major feelings for him, but they’ve faded now. She’s glad, honestly. Not just because unrequited feelings suck—and looking at him now, she thinks she’s got an answer on the Sawamura Feelings Front—but because she really does think they’re better off as friends.

“He’s not anyone’s ex- _anything_ ,” Sugawara says, sounding incredibly put-out about it.

Mao narrows her eyebrows at him. Michimiya absently wonders if evil best friends have an instinct for each other, like sharks and blood in water. “What, they’ve always been like this?” Mao asks incredulously.

“Since they met,” Azumane confirms glumly. “It’s been years of this, Aihara.”

“It’s Daichi’s personal vendetta against me,” Sugawara insists. “His general obliviousness with the world is a punishment for all the times I laughed when Noya or Hinata did something insane.”

“Oh, are we talking about Sawamura and Kuroo being useless again?” Shirofuku asks, popping up on the other side of Sugawara, tugging Kiyoko with her. Their arms are linked, like Michimiya does with her friends, like she’s doing with Mao right now, but their hands are clasped together too, fingers entwined. Michimiya can’t stop looking at them. She feels her fingers twitch—wonders whether Mao would shy away if she slid their palms together. Wonders whether Mao would wrap her hand around hers instead.

She blinks away that thought, that feeling, and tries to ignore the sudden warmth in her chest. Kiyoko is private, always has been, but the last time they’d met up to catch up over hot chocolate in cool night air, there had been a small smile on her face as she’d talked about Shirofuku, a hesitance to the way she’d twisted her hands. Michimiya is glad it worked out for her, but she is _definitely_ getting the scoop from her about it before the day is over.

It’s not a distraction from her own best friend. It’s not.

“It’s impossible not to talk about it,” Sugawara says exasperatedly, gesturing to where Kuroo and Sawamura are walking ahead of them. They’re technically walking with Bokuto, Kita, Aran and the twins as well—Oikawa had made a face at Atsumu and whisked Iwaizumi off to some fairground ride, the rest of them watching with various degrees of startled amusement as Iwaizumi had caught Ushijima and Semi by the wrists and dragged them along too, ignoring Oikawa’s squawks—but they look off in their own little world.

As Michimiya watches, the hand Kuroo has slung over Sawamura’s shoulder starts rubbing circles into his skin. Sawamura, for his part, _leans into_ Kuroo’s side, and rolls his neck, his head moving across Kuroo’s outstretched arm.

Sugawara lets out a strangled noise, Azumane makes a quiet huff of despair, Kiyoko’s lips thin like she’s disappointed in Sawamura, and Shirofuku and Mao let out twin snorts. Michimiya just feels vaguely like she’s observing a cosmic joke.

“And… we’re sure they’re not dating?” she double-checks.

Sugawara looks at her sympathetically. “Michimiya, you literally gave him a luck charm and he thought it was just a kind gesture,” he reminds her, and she winces. Mao makes a noise that’s halfway between a laugh and a groan, like the memory brings her physical pain.

“So,” Michimiya says, looking ahead of her at her friend and the boy he’s in love with, frowning as she does so. “They’re hopeless, then.”

“Yep,” Shirofuku says. “Oikawa had a breakdown about it the other day, according to Kou. They were wearing each other’s _jackets_.”

Azumane looks alarmed. “They’re not even the same size,” he points out. Shirofuku nods sagely.

“ _Hopeless_ ,” Sugawara intones, glaring at them as if he can make them be smarter about their hearts by force of eye contact alone.

Michimiya watches them for a few moments more, the easy way they lean into each other and each other’s space, and her fingers itch again. She ignores that instead, and thinks: _I’m rooting for you, Sawamura_.  
  


* * *

  
**3.**

For the most part, Moniwa thinks Oikawa is being dramatic about this.

Not that he hasn’t _noticed_ the dynamic between Kuroo and Daichi—they live together, so it’d be pretty impossible to miss. He just doesn’t think it’s a problem, exactly.

“They’ll move at their own time,” Kita said once, and Moniwa agrees.

So most of the time, he’s happy to just leave them doing whatever it is they do. Sure, at any given point, Kuroo is doing his best to act like an overgrown cat in Daichi’s space, which makes it really hard for Moniwa to defend against Futakuchi’s accusations that he’s living with a furry, and Daichi has developed this odd habit of using Kuroo’s sweaters as pillows to nap on in the living room when there are perfectly good _actual_ pillows on the sofa beside him, but usually he can just shrug and move on. He was the captain of the Iron Wall, after all. He learned a long time ago how to pick his battles. Besides, there are very few relationship dynamics that can make him bat an eye after years of being teammates with Aone and Futakuchi, who basically developed their own form of telepathy out of sheer willpower and brattiness. Affection too, even if Futakuchi wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it out loud.

Still, this is asking a lot to look past, even for someone as tolerant as Moniwa.

“Can you shift your head?” Daichi asks. “Your stupid hair is in the way.”

“My hair is the Eighth Wonder of the World,” Kuroo informs him in a sleepy voice, but he acquiesces, shuffling his head along Daichi’s shoulder so his hair is no longer interfering with Daichi’s line of sight.

“One of the Ancient ones?” Daichi asks, peering into the pantry as if he doesn’t have a human limpet clinging to his back. Moniwa really doesn’t know what he’s observing here. “Fitting, they’re all decrepit.”

“Are you calling me old?” Kuroo demands. Moniwa can’t tell _what_ he does, but he figures it’s something to do with his hands and Daichi’s sides, because suddenly Daichi is squirming and they’re both shaking, because Kuroo is—again, for reasons that are exceedingly unclear to Moniwa—hanging off Daichi’s back like some sort of spider monkey.

“Yeah,” Daichi says, wheezing but unrepentant. “Stop tickling me, you overgrown hairball, I’m trying to feed us.”

 _Us_. Moniwa is starting to understand Oikawa’s hysteria.

Kuroo grumbles, but he subsides. “You should be more respectful to your elders,” he says loftily after a few moments. “How rude of you, Sa’a’mura. What would all the grandmothers of Miyagi think.”

“Do you imagine I just collect grandmothers everywhere I go?” Daichi asks wryly, selecting some ramen packets from his pantry.

“Yes,” Kuroo answers promptly. “It’s your raw animal magnetism, except instead of attracting wild hyenas, yours brings grandmothers flocking to you.”

Daichi snorts. “Your laugh didn’t get the memo,” he teases.

“My laugh is extremely dignified,” Kuroo says, which is not at all true. Moniwa uses Kuroo’s laugh as an alarm sound in the mornings. He hasn’t told Kuroo this, but that’s partially because he thinks Kuroo might take it the way Oikawa is sure to—insultingly—which is only half the truth. Yes, it’s a shock to the system and it wakes Moniwa up without fail, but it’s also one of the more pleasant ways to start the day, because it reminds him of Kuroo being happy, and that’s something he genuinely loves to experience.

He reminds himself that Kuroo is his friend, and his happiness means Moniwa’s happiness, as he watches Kuroo cling to Daichi like some sort of human backpack.

“My mistake,” Daichi says, and his voice is tired, but amused, and so warm and _fond_ that it settles into Moniwa’s chest like hot chocolate on a winter day. _Oh_ , he thinks. All of a sudden, it feels like this ridiculous scene he’s been observing at 2am is an intimate moment he’s intruding on, and not two of his flatmates choosing the most ineffective way possible to cook themselves a study break snack.

“Mmmm,” Kuroo agrees, mumbling it into Daichi’s neck. Moniwa is glad Oikawa isn’t seeing this right now. Bokuto needs his sleep. “What are we having, Chef Sa’a’mura-san?” Kuroo asks, peering at the ramen packets. “Ooh, spicy chicken. I love it, three stars.”

“Hush, city boy snob,” Daichi says, gently bumping Kuroo’s head with his own. “I think it should be at least four, given I’m making it for you.”

“These are Michelin stars,” Kuroo says matter-of-factly. “Three is the highest you can get. And as a debut chef too! So proud of you, Sawamura.”

Daichi laughs, a warm, bright thing that rises through the kitchen. Even from the bench, Moniwa can see the way Kuroo lights up at having caused it, the way his expression softens, the way his whole body sinks into Daichi’s a little more.

“Thanks,” Daichi says. “I’ll dedicate my acceptance speech to you.”

“Will you sign my body?” Kuroo asks cheekily. “I could tattoo your signature across my chest forever. _Sawamura Daichi was here_.”

“I don’t know if I want my brand associated with a public menace like you forever,” Daichi is saying, and Kuroo is laughing, but Moniwa’s head is on the bench. _Tattoo your signature across my chest forever_ , he repeats to himself. _Kuroo Tetsurou, you may not be a furry, but you’re definitely in love with Sawamura Daichi, oh my god_.  
  


* * *

**  
4.**

Nobody has asked Bokuto, but he’s pretty sure Kuroo’s very aware of his feelings.

Well, Oikawa asked, and Oikawa’s actually a very good listener, but they were pretty distracted from their conversation by half of Inarizaki filing into their apartment. Bokuto’s not even joking; Aran, Atsumu, Osamu _and_ Suna had all come in, who made up more than half of the starting line up in Bokuto’s third year.

“Why are there so many foxes in here?” Oikawa finally asks, roughly twenty minutes later, when it’s clear there’s no explanation incoming. Bokuto’s not entirely sure who he’s asking, but nobody else seems to be gearing up to respond, so he takes a stab at it.

“They’re all in love with Kita, right?” he says. Aran lets out a deep, bone-weary sigh, Atsumu squawks—Bokuto privately thinks it sounds like the sort of noise Oikawa would make, but wisely chooses not to say so—and Suna manages to look even more tired. Osamu, however, snorts, but Bokuto’s pretty sure he’s snorting at the others, rather than Bokuto’s theory, so he grins at him. He likes Osamu. Last time they had a party at their apartment, he found Osamu, Yukie and Akaashi just sitting in Bokuto’s room with a small mountain of onigiri they had squirreled away. Akaashi had nodded his head, Yukie had given him a peace sign and Osamu had quirked one side of his lips, and just like that, Bokuto had accepted him into his heart. He’d always admired him, but he figured if two of his favourite people got along so well with Osamu, then he must be worth being friends with.

“Yeah, guys, yer all in love with Kita-san, right?” Osamu teases, and Atsumu flushes a deep scarlet. Suna and Aran exchange looks which Bokuto recognises from the years he’s known Kuroo post-Daichi—resigned, hopeless affection.

“Dunno why yer actin’ all high and mighty,” Atsumu mutters, shoving his brother. “All you and Omi-kun ever do is _look_ at each other—will ya _ever_ make a move—”

The door opens at that moment, and Kuroo and Daichi fall through. Quite literally.

“Ow, move your elbow, what the fuck, why is it so _sharp_ —” Daichi is complaining, and Kuroo huffs.

“‘M trying, ‘m trying,” Kuroo grumbles, groaning a little as he figures out all of his limbs, but eventually rolling himself off Daichi and sprawling out in the centre of the living room. Coincidentally, also in the centre of the assorted group of foxes and flatmates. Bokuto waves from his perch at the bench. Kuroo squints, then waves back.

“Why are you so _pointy?”_ comes a groan from the other side of the floor, where Daichi is still lying down. He slowly heaves himself up, putting his arms on his back to stretch it out. It kind of makes him look like he’s sixty but Bokuto, kindly, does not say this either.

“Stop elbow-shaming me,” Kuroo demands. “We have _guests_.”

 _That_ gets Daichi’s attention and he looks up, clocking all the Inarizaki alumni. Bokuto’s pretty sure Daichi doesn’t care about guests when it comes to whether or not to shame Kuroo’s elbows—Bokuto agrees with Daichi, they really _are_ pointy—but he does care about guests in general, so he smiles welcomingly at them.

“Hey, guys,” he says easily. “Looking for Kita?”

Kuroo snorts from the floor. “Nah, they’re all here to confess their love for Ushijima,” he quips.

Daichi kicks him lightly in the side. “Sorry about him,” he says with an apologetic smile. “We made an appointment with the vet to get him neutered, but they’re all booked up until next week.”

Kuroo affects an offended expression. “Sawamura! Are you saying you’re trying to rid the world of mini-mes?” he asks, clutching a hand to his chest.

“I’m just saving a future generation from inheriting that hair,” Daichi replies wryly.

“It’s charitable work,” Oikawa agrees. “Not only for everyone else’s eyes, but also from their identity crisis. Are they a cat? Are they a rooster? Some sort of horrifying hybrid? How could they ever be sure?”

“Don’t be rude to my winged-cat child,” Kuroo says, pointing a finger accusingly at Oikawa. Bokuto thinks it would look more intimidating if he wasn’t still lying on the floor. “They’re beautiful, just the way they are.”

Bokuto glances at the Inarizaki alumni, and notices that Aran seems to be muttering to himself. Akaashi does that a lot too, especially when dealing with Kuroo, _especially_ when dealing with Kuroo around Daichi, so Bokuto thinks that seems reasonable.

Oikawa scoffs. “Bokkun is on my side,” he says, and then Kuroo’s eyes are on Bokuto too. They look mournful. Bokuto _hates_ when Kuroo’s eyes look like that. Even when he’s just fucking around, Bokuto has such a hard time saying no to those eyes.

“Bo…” Kuroo says, drawn out and pleading. Atsumu and Suna are watching him in fascination now. “Would you really turn your back on your _godchild?”_

All thoughts of having Oikawa’s back because they are a team, a haphazard raft trying to survive in the ocean of Kuroo and Daichi’s weird flirting, evaporate in an instant.

“ _Bro_ ,” Bokuto says, eyes wide and emotional. Oikawa makes a sound next to him, half fond and half disgust. Bokuto has heard Konoha make it many times, mostly at him, so he’s very familiar with it.

“ _Bro_ ,” Kuroo says back, and Daichi rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry to interrupt the Titanic of bromance, but you’re going to catch a cold if you stay in those clothes,” Daichi says.

Bokuto, who had been about to object to the description—the Titanic _sunk_ , Daichi, and his friendship with Kuroo will _never_ sink—pauses, and glances down at Kuroo and then back at Daichi. He belatedly realises they’re somewhat wet.

Kuroo makes a pathetic noise from the ground, and flails his arms somewhat uselessly.

“You’re an embarrassment to humanity,” Oikawa tells him.

Kuroo ignores him. “O, super strong and sexy future firefighter, will you carry me?” he asks Daichi in an exaggeratedly seductive tone, winking as he does so.

Bokuto frowns. Even wrapped up in the sort of tone Kuroo uses to joke around with, it’s the kind of question that feels a little more honest than maybe Kuroo would like it to, at least to Bokuto. He glances sidelong at Oikawa, whose jaw is hanging open. Okay, to Oikawa too. He glances at Daichi, who just looks exasperated, though Bokuto thinks he detects a tinge of pink on his ears, peeking out from beneath the beanie jammed on his head. So maybe Daichi doesn’t realise it, at least.

“You’re like a mangy cat I have to rescue from a tree for an old lady,” Daichi grumbles, but he leans down anyway to lift Kuroo up. His arms slide easily beneath Kuroo’s torso and legs, and Kuroo’s arms immediately go around his neck. He lets out the slightest of grunts, but he manages to stand, still holding Kuroo, and then he gets that look in his eye that always reminds Bokuto of high school Daichi, captain of the craziest team at Nationals: fierce and determined, a glint of mischief and challenge in a sea of steady surety. In a surprisingly fluid movement, Daichi manages to leverage Kuroo and flips him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Bokuto is impressed. He knows Daichi’s strong, but Kuroo’s _not_ easy to lift.

Kuroo lets out a shriek as Daichi moves him, half a gasp of surprise, half laughter, but Daichi ignores him, marching them both towards the bathroom closest to their rooms. Bokuto absently wonders what he’s going to do once they get there. Deposit Kuroo in the bath? Both of them start removing their wet clothes and then realise they have nothing else to change into and they can’t both use the shower at once, at least not platonically?

Bokuto frowns. He’s been listening to Oikawa’s lectures on film tropes too much again.

“Hang on,” Atsumu says, and Bokuto glances at him. All of the Inarizaki alumni are staring at him and Oikawa with varying degrees of incredulity. “Y’asked _us_ if _we_ were in love with Kita-san but just let that fireman bullshit happen?”

Oikawa groans. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters. “I’m trying to pretend it didn’t happen, for my own sanity.”

The door opens again, but this time, the entry is reasonable. Ushijima and Kita step into the room and survey everyone, Moniwa and Sakusa behind them.

Kita gives his former teammates a brilliant smile. “Do ya want some tea?” he asks, in lieu of a greeting, but Bokuto thinks that’s probably okay. Kita takes care in everything he does, so every smile he gives, every word he utters, is delivered with such intention that it kind of always feels like a welcome anyway.

“Yes please,” Aran says, looking like he desperately needs a hot drink to soothe himself, or maybe wash away the secondhand embarrassment from watching Kuroo flirt with Daichi. Bokuto doesn’t really get secondhand embarrassment, but Konoha and Akaashi have both assured him that Kuroo flirting with Daichi can be especially excruciating.

Behind Kita, Sakusa seems to be making deliberate not-quite eye contact with Osamu. Bokuto observes this for a moment, and then glances at how the other three guests are faring—Suna is eyeing everything carefully, his hand on his phone, as if he’s ready to film Atsumu embarrassing himself at a moment’s notice, which Bokuto knows is true from past experience; Aran and Ushijima are talking about something, Ushijima listening intently to whatever Aran is saying, eyes intrigued; and Atsumu is following Kita around the kitchen, helping put away groceries but clearly mostly recounting Kuroo’s incredibly embarrassing line that somehow _worked_ for him, judging from the way his hand gestures seem to be imitating a fireman’s carry. Bokuto thinks about the noises Konoha makes at him sometimes, half-disgusted, half-fond, and the way Akaashi’s nose scrunches when he’s sleepy, the way he grabs onto whoever’s around for warmth, which usually means him or Konoha, but occasionally Yukie or Kuroo. Maybe there are different ways of showing your feelings—different rituals, different routines you carve out into your lives. Bokuto’s not sure, but he thinks of the warmth in his chest when Akaashi catches his wrist, the way Konoha’s warmest smile makes his cheeks burst into flame. Then he thinks about Kuroo and his _sexy future firefighter_ and he decides, yeah, there’s lots of different ways of showing your heart, just Kuroo’s are all really embarrassing.

Moniwa sidles over to where Bokuto and Oikawa are still seated at the bench. “I heard Atsumu say something about Kuroo?”

“Wail, more like,” Oikawa grumbles, but sighs. “Yeah, Kuro-chan committed more crimes against humanity. Well, they both did, but he called him a _sexy firefighter_ , Moni-chan!”

“Sexy _future_ firefighter,” Bokuto corrects, and Oikawa stares at him incredulously.

“Forgive my temporal inconsistencies,” he deadpans.

Moniwa winces. “Yeah, he told Daichi he’d tattoo his signature on his chest the other day,” he says with an air of great resignation, as if the knowledge had become a burden too great to bear.

Oikawa’s head hits the bench with a dull _thud_.  
  


* * *

**  
5.**

Over the course of living in his apartment, Ushijima had grown accustomed to the idea that he might end up in several unconventional situations due to his flatmates.

He had not expected to be in this one.

“You’re _where?”_ Oikawa asks through the phone, and Ushijima sighs.

“The hospital,” he repeats.

“ _Why?”_ Oikawa demands. Ushijima absently notes that Oikawa has a rather shrill voice when he’s distressed. It reminds him of the _kaitsuburi_. He likes _kaitsuburi_. Their necks are a similar colour to Oikawa’s hair, though he suspects Oikawa would not take being told he looks like a bird’s neck as a compliment. He’ll tell Iwaizumi instead, he decides. He’s more likely to appreciate it.

“Kuroo burned himself,” Ushijima explains.

“What? How? Is he okay?” Oikawa asks.

Ushijima weighs up these questions, choosing how to respond. He dismisses the _what_ easily, but the other two are more difficult to deal with. Whether he’s okay or not depends entirely on your definition of okay—he’s in pain, obviously, but he’ll be fine. Physically. Ushijima is still unsure about his ability to function as a member of their household.

Which brings him to the _how_. Which, Ushijima admits, he’s still struggling to understand, and he watched it all happen. Objectively, what happened was Kuroo was making ramen and then he poured hot water on himself instead of into the sink. The _why_ of it is what escapes Ushijima.

As far as he can tell, Kuroo was paying too much attention to Daichi’s exercise regime, and ended up not looking where he was pouring.

“He will live,” Ushijima says first, and opens his mouth to continue speaking when Oikawa starts laughing, a hoarse, almost manic thing.

“Ushiwaka-chan, I know he’s going to _live_ , I didn’t doubt _that_ —if there was real danger, you’d have rung us all to come down—but is it serious?”

“Not really,” Ushijima says. “He’ll need to tend to it for a while, but I think Sawamura was just being a little over-cautious.”

“Sawamura?” Oikawa asks, voice suddenly sharper. “So Dai-chan’s involved?”

Ushijima contemplates this. “Yes,” he answers honestly. “I believe Kuroo was watching him work out instead of paying attention in the kitchen.” This is a problem, Ushijima reflects, because Kuroo is traditionally one of the more trustworthy flatmates in a kitchen. Bokuto and Oikawa aren’t allowed to use the stove, Moniwa prefers baking, and Ushijima dislikes doing anything without a detailed recipe. Kuroo, Daichi and Kita are the kitchen’s main masters, and it would probably be bad for the flat’s ecosystem if Kuroo suddenly stopped being able to use it safely whenever Daichi was around, given Daichi lives there, and he and Kuroo are constantly together.

“Let me get this straight,” Oikawa says slowly. “You guys are at the hospital because Kuro-chan burned himself because he was too distracted by Dai-chan’s _thighs?”_

Ushijima considers this theory, runs it past his memory of events, and the way Kuroo had looked extremely embarrassed about the entire situation. “That seems correct,” he agrees.

There’s a sudden _thud_ , and a cry of “Oikawa!” in what sounds like Moniwa’s voice. Ushijima assumes he’s banging his forehead against the bench again. He’s taken to doing it recently. Ushijima wonders if he should bring it up with Iwaizumi for an intervention. Or Semi, perhaps. Semi is good at interventions, and also saying things to Oikawa in a way that doesn’t make Oikawa storm out of the room, muttering something about promises he made at seventeen. Though Iwaizumi says those aren’t really Ushijima’s fault, and then he usually pats his hand, which makes Ushijima’s entire chest go warm in a way he doesn’t have words for.

“It’s fine,” Oikawa says again a moment later. “I’m fine. My flatmates are idiots who are now injuring themselves because they can’t confess their love like normal people, but it’s fine! I’m calm.”

Ushijima hesitates. He doesn’t _seem_ calm, but becoming Oikawa’s friend—whether or not Oikawa actually admits it, Ushijima feels fairly confident that they can be called that now—has involved a lot of learning what sort of things make him squawk, and he has a feeling that suggesting a lack of calm might make him squawk, and not in the cute bird way, but more in the erupting volcano way.

“I’m… glad,” he settles on in the end. He glances up, and is relieved to find Daichi and Kuroo coming his way, even if they appear to be bickering. “They’re out now,” he says into the phone.

“Tell Kuroo his useless pining can be seen by aliens in another _galaxy_ ,” Oikawa instructs Ushijima.

“I… am not going to tell him that,” Ushijima says. He feels like that will embarrass Kuroo, at least if he says it in front of Daichi.

“Fine, give him the phone so _I_ can tell him that,” Oikawa says. Ushijima thinks this is a satisfactory compromise.

“—what are you even saying? Of course there’s no toads—”

“What do you _mean_ there are no toads? Have you ever seen a—”

“Kuroo,” Ushijima interrupts, because as much as he enjoys discussion about native wildlife, he’s acutely aware of how Kuroo and Daichi can talk about anything for literally hours, “Oikawa wants to speak to you.”

Kuroo makes a face, but he shrugs good-naturedly, and takes the phone. “‘Sup,” he drawls. His expression immediately shifts, caught somewhere between laughter and embarrassment, and Ushijima takes it to mean Oikawa has started his specific brand of alien-related admonishment.

“Did the doctor say anything?” Ushijima asks Daichi, who takes a moment to respond, because he’s just watching Kuroo’s face with an odd expression. It’s soft, but there’s a deep fondness to it that Ushijima isn’t used to seeing on Daichi, not even when he’s talking to Azumane or Sugawara; it’s not more or less, it’s just different. He’s looking at Kuroo a little like he’s found something he didn’t even know he was looking for.

“Huh? Sorry, yeah, she gave us some ointment and told him to be more careful in the kitchen,” Daichi says after a moment, tearing his eyes away from Kuroo.

Ushijima hums. Perhaps Kuroo is not the only one easily distracted by having the other in his vicinity.  
  


* * *

**  
+1.**

Kita’s always believed in doing things right. He does not hold to his grandmother’s gods, but there’s a peace he finds in perseverance, in diligence, in routine. A kind of truth to it, like the universe was built to withstand mortals and their rituals.

He believes in doing small things every day, and building himself on that. It’s largely a truth he applies to himself, but where necessary, he thinks about it in relation to the world around him.

“They’ll be okay,” he says, the first time Moniwa wonders about Kuroo and Daichi to him. He isn’t one to talk about others, but there’s a genuine note of concern in Moniwa’s voice, one which isn’t usually there when Oikawa is having one of his minor meltdowns over Kuroo and Daichi’s flirtation, and so he thinks about it carefully. “They’re just buildin’ the small things—shorin’ them up until they’ve got a sturdier foundation, that’s all.”

Kita always says what he believes, and he thinks it brings Moniwa comfort, knowing he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t stand by it. He knows the others have their concerns and frustrations, and he gets it, he does, but he’s not worried. _That much love’s gotta go somewhere_ , Kita thinks. _They keep building it up into something together, and eventually they’re gonna figure out how to climb it_.

When it happens, they’re at McDonalds.

Yukie and Bokuto are ordering enough food to feed a small nation, Kiyoko and Moniwa are trying to keep them to a reasonable amount, and Ushijima and Iwaizumi are collecting coffees at the McCafé counter. Kita finds himself seated at a very long table with Kuroo, Daichi, Akaashi, Konoha and Oikawa, though Oikawa almost immediately gets up and disappears, having spotted someone with dual toned hair and a surprising amount of fishnets for McDonalds in daylight.

“Semi,” Daichi murmurs to Kuroo, having spotted the same person as Oikawa, and Kita watches with mild fascination as Kuroo’s eyebrows slowly descend from surprise into something amused.

Then, suddenly, Kuroo’s entire face is moving, making a complicated expression, sort of like a cat faced with a bath. Akaashi and Konoha, opposite him, notice it and make matching expressions of dismay.

“Oh, fuck,” Konoha says.

“Not again,” Akaashi mutters.

Kuroo ignores them both. “Ooh, did you get lost on the way back to the zoo?” he calls out.

Akaashi stares flatly at him. “That wasn’t even a _good_ one,” he groans. “You’re dragging all of us into this for _that?”_

“Dragging us into what?” Daichi asks, but a shadow falls over them before anyone can answer him.

“Who let a cat in here? Isn’t that a health and safety violation?” someone drawls. Kita blinks, finding himself looking at someone who looks startlingly like a snake.

Konoha looks at Akaashi. “Neither of them are doing well today,” he says, and Akaashi shakes his head.

“Konoha, Akaashi,” the person says, and the two sigh in unison.

“Hello, Daishou-san,” Akaashi says, turning to face him and inclining his head politely.

“‘Sup, dickhead,” Konoha says. Kita considers his tone; it’s not unfriendly, not like an actual insult, but it also doesn’t sound like they’re actually _friends_. Daishou seems unfazed, however, and nods at them.

“Pleasant gathering?” Daishou inquires.

“It was until you interrupted,” Kuroo says. Akaashi fixes him with a sharp look.

“Hey, you called out to me,” Daishou points out.

“He’s right,” Daichi says, raising an eyebrow at Kuroo, who scrunches his nose in response. Daishou observes them with interest. Kita notes the way his eyes track the closeness between the pair, the way Kuroo’s head inclines towards Daichi’s, the way Daichi’s eyes are soft even when he’s got his eyebrow raised at him. Something flashes in Daishou’s eyes, something like recognition, which makes Kita’s brow furrow.

“I know you,” Daishou says, snapping his fingers at Daichi. “I saw you at Nationals—you guys beat the kitty cats over here. Karasuno.”

Daichi’s eyes widen. “Uh, yeah, that’s us. I’m Sawamura Daichi,” he says.

“Good to meet you,” he says, then nods at Kita, who nods back. He’s not offended at not being asked for his name. Daishou clearly has a gameplan here, and Kita is not part of it.

“So, Dai-chan, huh?” Daishou says, but it’s not directed at Daichi, it’s directed at Kuroo. Akaashi exhales a ragged breath. Konoha scowls at Kuroo, as if this is all his fault. On reflection, it technically is.

“Uh—” Daichi begins, perhaps to question or object, both of which are reasonable responses, when Kuroo interjects.

“Where’s Mika-chan?” he asks, but if he was hoping to score some points with that one, Kita thinks, it did not work. Daishou’s smile widens.

“Over with Hiroo, getting us a seat,” he says. “Now—”

“Actually,” a new voice says, and Kita glances over to see a girl with an eyebrow arched right at Daishou, “I came over to see what was taking so long, and of course found you and Kuroo-kun.”

“What do you mean, ‘of course’?” Daishou asks, indignant, while Kuroo makes some weird noise between a laugh and a whine.

Mika arches her eyebrow even higher at him, which makes him grumble, but he stops protesting. She then turns her eyebrow on Kuroo, who immediately turns on an angelic smile. She snorts, clearly not believing it, but she smiles at the table, waving at Akaashi, who nods back.

“C’mon, Hiroo’ll drink your shake if you leave him alone with it,” Mika says, slipping her hand into Daishou’s and tugging him away.

“That’s why I didn’t leave him alone with it!” Daishou protests. “I left you with it too!”

Kita can’t hear her next reply, but he hears a tinkling laugh, and sees her jab Daishou in the ribs. A second later, he presses a kiss to her forehead, and Kita hears the laugh again.

“So who was that?” Daichi asks, drawing Kita’s attention back to the table.

“Daishou Suguru,” Akaashi answers. “Captain of Nohebi in your year.”

“Snake bastard,” Kuroo mutters.

“Also Kuroo’s ex,” Konoha says casually.

“ _Konoha!”_ Kuroo cries out.

Konoha shrugs unrepentantly. “You called out to him this time,” he says. “I’m not protecting the dignity of a moron.”

Daichi raises his eyebrow at Kuroo. “You dated someone with hair like _that?”_

Kuroo’s expression, which had been mildly apprehensive, clears. Kita’s unsure if it had been Daishou-related—in terms of whether he was worried about judgement of his teenage taste—or Daichi-related—given his feelings, Kita thinks it’s understandable if he’d been a little nervous about what Daichi might think about meeting one of his exes—but he’s glad to see the way his eyes brighten at Daichi’s response. As much as Kuroo teases and snarks, he has one of the truest, most incomparably large hearts Kita has ever known, and it is always a joy to see it unburdened.

“Okay, no, you can’t give me shit for hairstyle taste, I’ve _seen_ Suga’s boyfriend, and he has like, _no_ hair, and back when he _did_ have hair, it was bright red and sticking everywhere like a porcupine!” Kuroo argues.

“Why am _I_ inheriting Suga’s taste?” Daichi demands.

Ushijima and Iwaizumi, who had come up behind Konoha and Akaashi during Kuroo’s comments, glance at Kita in confusion.

“Why are they discussing Tendou?” Ushijima asks.

“Flirting,” Kita says, for lack of a better response.

“I see,” Ushijima says, in a tone that suggests the opposite. Kita suppresses a small smile. He watches as Ushijima and Iwaizumi slide into the seats beside Akaashi, watches the way Ushijima’s hand hovers nears Iwaizumi’s, watches as Iwaizumi firmly captures Ushijima’s fingers with his own, rubbing them gently. Kita doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ushijima’s smile look so warm.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite,” Kuroo says, grinning down at Daichi that way he does when he’s enjoying himself, having the time of his life bantering away the hours with Daichi. “What’s _your_ brilliant taste in hair that beats mine and Suga’s?”

Daichi gets this look in his eye that Kita recognises from high school, one he saw across the net when they played each other at Nationals. It’s a blazing, ferocious thing, something determined, burning bright. It makes Kita think of mules digging their heels in, of someone staring up at a rock face and deciding to scale it anyway. Kita thinks Daichi is like him, mostly, a mortal invited to the monsters’ banquet, but when he gets that look in his eye, Kita thinks he has something of the monsters in him too.

Daichi takes a deep breath. “It’s not brilliant at all,” he confesses, and then it’s rushing out of him, like a river that doesn’t know how to stop flowing. He sounds almost _giddy_ , and Kita thinks that this is a rare thing, to get to watch love in motion. “It’s messy and embarrassing and half the time it looks like a rooster, and the other half of the time it looks like a rooster flew through it.”

Kuroo’s frozen, but his eyes are shining, caught with something that Kita thinks might be hope. He notices Oikawa and Semi approaching, and raises his eyebrows. Something about it must trigger Oikawa’s nose for drama, because his expression changes, and he grabs Semi by the hand, speeding up. On the other side of the table, Kita can see Bokuto, Yukie, Moniwa and Kiyoko approaching with their trays of food. Normally, he thinks, some of the table occupants would jump up to go help. Right now, though, none of them want to break the spell of what’s happening.

“You—I—” Kuroo manages, before giving up.

“It’s not just the hair that’s embarrassing,” Daichi continues doggedly, and his cheeks are bright pink now, but he’s still going. “It’s also my taste, obviously, but the person attached to the hair—wow. _Total_ nerd alert. Can’t go outside without getting wet somehow. Managed to burn himself making ramen once. I once woke up from an accidental nap during studying to find him curled up in a fetal position into my side, which is sort of insane, given he’s the size of an airplane landing strip.”

Kuroo laughs, and it sounds extremely choked, but Kita doesn’t think anyone will call him out on it this time. “The ramen was your fault,” he manages. “Who does squats in the _living room?”_

Daichi laughs now, a shuddering thing, filled with relief and affection, and it lodges itself into Kita’s ribcage as one of the blessings the universe has given him, to be able to see joy manifested in his friends.

Moniwa’s eyes look glassy, and Bokuto is beaming, giving Kuroo and Daichi a thumbs up. Oikawa is doing his head thud thing again, except this time it’s against Ushijima’s back, and Semi is rubbing his back soothingly as he does so. Iwaizumi seems amused by Oikawa’s current situation, and Ushijima looks even more pleasantly surprised than he did moments ago. Yukie is munching on fries, watching Kuroo and Daichi avidly, and Kiyoko is watching her girlfriend with a soft fondness that fits her face so naturally, Kita can barely believe he’s never seen it on her before.

“So, uh,” Kuroo says, then pauses, looking unsure for a second.

“Um,” Daichi says in response, equally eloquent.

Kuroo’s mouth stretches into a bright grin, the type that puts the sun to shame, the type that never fails to make Daichi’s mouth go soft at the corners, never fails to make his eyes crinkle with so much affection it almost hurts to look at him.

“O, super strong and sexy future firefighter, will you maybe go out with me?” Kuroo says, and there’s a grin in his voice, in every inch of his body right now, and Daichi _groans_ , resting his forehead against Kuroo’s chest as his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Daichi says, mostly to Kuroo’s shirt, and then: “Yes.” He looks up, grinning. “Yes. I can’t let you just go around embarrassing yourself without supervision, right?”

Kuroo laughs. “So this is charity?” he asks.

“Not charity,” Daichi says, “but it _is_ for the good of humanity.” 

Kuroo hums, then buries his face in Daichi’s hair. “I can live with that,” he says, muffled.

“Good deal,” Daichi says, as all their friends collectively break down. Kita watches in a mixture of mild amusement and fondness. “But, oi,” Daichi says, and Kuroo moves his head from Daichi’s hair to look down at him.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“I’m still not signing your chest,” Daichi says, and Kuroo tries to pout, tries to whine _Sa’a’muraaaaaaaa_ , but he’s smiling too hard to pull it off.

He looks _happy_ , Kita thinks. They both do. He smiles. He knew they would get there. He watches the way Daichi smiles into Kuroo’s chest, the way Kuroo’s hand so easily wraps itself around Daichi’s shoulders, the way Daichi cards his fingers through Kuroo’s hair, the way Kuroo steals Daichi’s food with a grin and then swoops in to press his lips against Daichi’s cheek, making the shorter man blush. It’s the small things, Kita thinks. They build up into something, big enough that everyone could see it.

**Author's Note:**

> yuimao is ENTIRELY relle and sain's fault. i love them but i had finally stopped thinking about them and then sain mentioned them again and i just. couldn't help it.
> 
> also now it's 9:30am so i am going to.... finally try sleep hjdkhkjdghjg. come talk to me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/kurokenns)
> 
> fic post on twitter can be found [here!](https://twitter.com/kurokenns/status/1306776938015588352?s=20)


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